Monday, February 22, 2010

The world would have lost much without people like Devageet. We would not have known anything of Socrates if Plato had not written notes, nor of Buddha, nor Bodhidharma. Jesus too is known through his disciples’ notes. Mahavira is said never to have uttered a single word. I know the meaning of why it is said. It is not that he did not utter a single word, but that he never communicated to the world directly; it was only through the notes of his disciples.

There is not a single case known where an enlightened person has written anything himself. As you know, to me an enlightened person is not the last thing. There is still a transcendental state which is neither enlightened nor not-enlightened. Now, in that state of consciousness it is only through intimate communion – I am not using the word communication knowingly, but communion – a kind of merger, that the disciple becomes just the hand of the master.

So get ready for your notes, because last time, although unwillingly, I was going to mention the name of the poet-singer of GEET GOVIND. Somehow though I managed not to mention it. I pretended as if I had forgotten it, but it is heavy on me. The whole day I felt a little concerned about Jaydeva – that is the name of the poet-singer of GEET GOVIND.

Why was I not willing to mention his name? For his own sake. He was not even close to enlightenment. I have mentioned Mikhail Naimy, the creator of THE BOOK OF MIRDAD; I have mentioned Kahlil Gibran, and many others: Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Walt Whitman. They are not enlightened, but very close, just on the verge; one push and they will be in, in the temple. They are standing just at the door, not daring enough to knock... and the door is not locked. They can push and it will open. It is already open, it just needs a push, just as they need a push. Hence I mention their names.

But Jaydeva is not even close to the temple. It is a miracle how GEET GOVIND descended on him. But no one knows God’s mysteries – and remember there is no God, it is only an expression. Nobody knows the mysteries of existence, its abundance. Sometimes it pours on barren land, sometimes it does not rain on fertile soil. It is simply so, nothing can be done about it.

Jaydeva is a barren land. GEET GOVIND, this tremendously beautiful poetry, the song of God, descended upon him. He must have sung it, composed it, not knowing what he was doing. I don’t see him anywhere near the temple, that is why I was unwilling to mention his name. It may even make him more egoistic. That is why I said ”for his own sake,” but I felt it is not the poor man’s fault – whatsoever he is, he is – but he has given birth to a beautiful child, and if I have mentioned the child then let me mention the father’s name; otherwise people will think the child is a bastard. The father may have been, but the child is not.

I feel a great relief because I am finished with Jaydeva forever. But there is a queue standing at the door. You don’t know what a fix I am in. I had not thought of it before, because I am not a thinker and I never think before I jump. I jump, and then I think. It was just by the way that I mentioned ten beautiful books. I was not thinking so many others would start bugging me. So, ten more.

First: The FRAGMENTS of Heraclitus. I love this man. Let me mention it, just by the way, as a note in the margin, that I love all, but I don’t like all. I like a few and I don’t like a few, but I love all. About that there is no question. I love Jaydeva as much as I love Heraclitus, but Heraclitus I like too.

There are very few whom I can put in the same category as Heraclitus. In fact, even to say that is not true; there is no one. Now I am saying what I really wanted to say always. There is no one, I repeat, who can be put in the same category as Heraclitus. He is just far out – dangerously awakened, unafraid of the consequences of what he was saying.

He says in these FRAGMENTS – again the notes of a Devageet, a disciple. Heraclitus did not write. There must be something, some reason why these people do not write, but of that a little later. Heraclitus says in the FRAGMENTS: ”You cannot step in the same river twice.” And then he says: ”No, you cannot step in the same river even once....” This is tremendously beautiful, and true too.

Everything is changing, and changing so fast that there is no way to step in the same river twice; you can’t even step in the same river once. The river is constantly flowing; going, going, going to the ocean, to the infinite, going to disappear into the unknown.

This is the first on my list this evening: Heraclitus.

Second: The GOLDEN VERSES of Pythagoras. He was one of the most misunderstood men, obviously. If you know you are bound to be misunderstood, that is certain. To understand is so dangerous, because then you will be misunderstood. Pythagoras was not understood even by his own disciples, not even by those who wrote down the GOLDEN VERSES. They wrote it mechanically... because not a single disciple of Pythagoras rose to his heights, not a single one became enlightened. And the Greeks have completely ignored him. They have ignored their best: Heraclitus, Socrates, Pythagoras, Plotinus. They had wanted to ignore Socrates too, but he was too much. So they had to poison him, they could not just ignore him.

But Pythagoras is completely ignored, and he has the same key as Gautam Buddha, Jesus, or any other enlightened one. One thing more: neither Jesus nor Buddha nor Lao Tzu made so much effort to find the key as Pythagoras. He worked the most. Pythagoras was the most authentic seeker. He risked all and everything. He traveled all around the world that was known in those days; studied under all kinds of masters; entered into all kinds of mystery schools and fulfilled their conditions. He is a category in himself.

Third: A man who is not known much, not even by his own countrymen. His name is Saraha, and the book is called THE SONG OF SARAHA; that is its Tibetan title. Nobody knows who wrote it down. One thing is certain, Saraha never did, he just sang it. But it has the fragrance that the man knew, that he had attained. The song is not the composition of a poet but a realization of a mystic. It is just a few lines, but of such grandeur and beauty that the stars can feel ashamed.

THE SONG OF SARAHA is untranslated. I heard it from a Tibetan lama. I would have liked to have heard it again and again but the lama stank so much that I had to say ”Thank you....” Lamas stink because they never take a bath. The lama’s stink – and I am allergic to smells – was even too much for me to hear the whole song! I was worried that I was going to have an asthma attack.

I have spoken much about Saraha; he is the original source of the school of Tantra.

Fourth: Tilopa, and the few notes from his song left behind by his disciples. I wonder, without these disciples, how much we would have missed. These people who were just writing down whatsoever was said by the master, not thinking whether it was right or wrong, just trying to put it into words as correctly as possible. And it is a difficult task. A master is a madman, he can say anything, he can sing anything, or he may remain silent. He may just make a few gestures with his hand, and those gestures have to be understood. That was what Meher Baba did continuously for thirty years. He remained silent, only making gestures with his hands.

Is my numbering incorrect, Devageet?

”No, Osho.”

So good... it feels so good to be correct sometimes. With numbers I am really good. It is a strange coincidence that I asked at the right moment. I always get mixed up with numbers. I cannot count, for the simple reason that I am facing the immeasurable, the unaccountable. The truth that I am facing is neither in words, nor in numbers. The truth transcends all, and it is so wondrous that one gets mixed up. Everything goes upside down, bizarre. So this is a great compliment that you said I was right. But now please tell me, what was the number?

”Number five, Osho.”

Thank you.

Fifth: The man I am going to mention is not recognized as enlightened because there was nobody to recognize him. Only an enlightened person can recognize another. This man’s name is D.T. Suzuki. This man has done more than anybody else in the modern world to make meditation and Zen available. Suzuki worked for his whole life to introduce to the West the innermost core of Zen.

’Zen’ is only the Japanese pronunciation of the Sanskrit word dhyana – meditation. Buddha never used Sanskrit; he hated it, for the simple reason that it had become the language of the priests, and the priest is always in the service of the devil. Buddha used a very simple language, that used by his people in the valley of Nepal. The name of his language is Pali. In Pali dhyana is pronounced ch’ana. Simple, illiterate, ordinary people cannot appreciate the subtleties of any language. They make it according to themselves. It is like a stone rolling down the river, it becomes round. That’s how every word used by the people starts having a beautiful roundness, a particular simplicity. Dhyana is difficult for the ordinary people to pronounce; they pronounced it ch’ana. When it reached China, from ch’ana it became ch’an, and when it traveled to Japan it became Zen. You can see – it happens everywhere – people always make words simple.

D.T. Suzuki’s book ZEN AND JAPANESE CULTURE is my fifth. This man has done so much service for humanity that no one can transcend him. His work is immense. The whole world is indebted to him and it will always remain so. Suzuki should be a household word. It is not... I am saying that it should be. Very few people are aware, and those who are aware it is their responsibility to spread their awareness far and wide.

Sixth: I am going to introduce a Frenchman to you. You will be surprised. Inside you are asking yourself, ”A Frenchman? And being listed by Osho along with Pythagoras, Heraclitus, Suzuki? Has he really gone mad?”

Yes, I have never been sane, not for these last twenty-five years, or a little more. Before that I too was sane, but thank God – again remember it is just an expression, because there is no God, only godliness. I don’t forget to mention it because there is every possibility that even my followers, my disciples, will start worshipping God – or me as a God. There is no God, there never was.

Nietzsche is wrong when he says, ”God is dead!” – not because God is not dead, but because he was never alive so how can he be dead? To be dead one has to first fulfill the condition of being alive. That is where Sartre is wrong: he agrees with Nietzsche. I say ”Thank God!” – I used the word because there is no other word to use in its place. But it is only a word, contentless. ”Thank God” simply means it is good, that it is beautiful.

I am feeling so tremendously joyous that, Devageet, you will have to remind me again what was the sixth book I was talking about.

”A Frenchman, Osho.”

Right. I have not mentioned the name yet. The book is Hubert Benoit’s LET GO. It should be on the bookshelf of every meditator. Nobody has written so scientifically and yet so poetically. It is a contradiction, but he has managed it. Hubert Benoit’s LET GO is the best that has come out of the modern Western world. It is the best book of the century as far as the West is concerned. I am not counting the East.

The seventh: Ramakrishna, his PARABLES. You know I don’t like saints very much. That does not mean that I like them a little bit – I don’t like them at all. In fact, to be true I hate them. Saints are phony, hocus-pocus, the stuff bullshit is made of. But Ramakrishna does not belong to them – again, thank God! At least there are a few people who are saintly and yet are not saints.

Ramakrishna’s PARABLES are very simple. Parables are bound to be simple. Remember the parables of Jesus? – just like that. If a parable is difficult then it is no longer useful. A parable is only needed so that it can be understood by all ages of children. Yes, I mean all ages of children. There are children who are ten years of age, and there are children of eighty years of age, and so on... but they are all children playing on the seashore, collecting seashells. Ramakrishna’s PARABLES is myseventh book.

Eighth: THE FABLES OF AESOP. Now Aesop is not really a historical person; he never existed. Buddha has used all those parables in his sermons. With Alexander coming to India, those parables were brought to the West. Of course many things changed, even the name of Buddha. Buddha was called The Bodhisattva.

Buddha has said there are two kinds of buddhas: one is the arhat, one who attains his buddhahood and then does not care about anybody else; and the bodhisattva, who attains buddhahood and then tries his hardest to help others on the path. ’Bodhisattva’ was the word carried by Alexander as bodhisat, which then became Josephus; then from Josephus it became Aesop. Aesop is not a historical person, but the parables are tremendously significant. That’s my eighth book today.

Ninth: Nagarjuna’s MULA MADHYAMIKA KARIKA. I don’t like Nagarjuna very much; he is too much of a philosopher, and I am anti-philosophic. But his MULA MADHYAMIKA KARIKA, his KARIKAS for short.... MULA MADHYAMIKA KARIKA means the essence of the path of the middle – the essential middle path. In his KARIKAS he has reached the profoundest depths of which words are capable. I have never spoken on it. If you want to speak on the essential, the best way is not to speak at all, just to be silent. But the book is tremendously beautiful.

Tenth: my last for this evening is a strange book; ordinarily nobody would think I would include it at all. It is the great work of Marpa, the Tibetan mystic. Even his followers don’t read it; it is not meant to be read, it is a puzzle. You have to meditate over it. You have just to look at it and then suddenly the book disappears – its contents disappear, and only the consciousness remains. Marpa was a very strange man. His master Milarepa used to say, ”Even I bow down to Marpa.” No master has ever said that, but Marpa was such....

Somebody once said to Marpa, ”Do you believe in Milarepa? If so then jump into this fire!” Immediately he jumped! People ran from all sides to extinguish the fire knowing that Marpa had jumped into it. When the fire was put out they found him sitting there in a buddha posture laughing hilariously!

They asked Marpa, ”Why are you laughing?”

He said, ”I am laughing because trust is the only thing that fire cannot destroy.”

This is the man whose simple songs I count as the tenth – THE BOOK OF MARPA.

Is my hour over? I can hear you saying yes, though I know my hour has not even come yet. How can it be over? I have come before my time, that’s why I am misunderstood.

But as far as you are concerned, you are right; my hour is over. And this is really beautiful. There is no expression for it. It is so beautiful, it is better to end it now.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Now my work begins. What a joke! The joke of all jokes is that Sosan, the Chinese sage, was knocking at the door of my consciousness. These mystics are too much. You can never know at what moment they will start knocking at your doors. You are making love to your girlfriend, and Sosan comes and starts knocking. They come all the time, anytime, they do not believe in any etiquette. And what was he saying to me? He was saying, ”Why haven’t you included my book?”

My God, that is true! I have not included his book in my list for the simple reason that his book contains all that is. If I include his hook then nothing else is needed, then no other book is needed. Sosan is enough unto himself. His book is called HSIN HSIN MING.

HSIN has to be written not like the English ’sin’ but h-s-i-n. Now you know the Chinese: what a way to commit a sin! Hsin... HSIN HSIN MING.

Okay Sosan, I include your book too. That becomes my first book today. I am sorry, it should have been the first from the very beginning, but I have already talked about twenty others. It doesn’t matter. HSIN HSIN MING whether I said it or not, is the foremost, the first. Write the FIRST, Devageet, in capital letters.

HSIN HSIN MING is such a small book that if Sosan had known that one day, after him, Gurdjieff would write a book called ALL AND EVERYTHING, he would have laughed, because that title belongs to his own book. And Gurdjieff had to write one thousand pages, yet the few words of Sosan are far more penetrating, far more significant. They go directly to your heart.

I can even hear the noise – not of those words going to your heart, but some mouse, some devil,doing his work. Let him do his work. Sosan’s book is so small, just like ISA UPANISHAD, and far more significant. When I say that my heart breaks, because I would like ISA to be the ultimate book, but what can I do? – Sosan has defeated it. Tears come to my eyes because ISA is defeated, and also because Sosan is victorious.

The book is so small, you can write it on your palm; but if you try, please remember... the left hand. Don’t write it on the right hand, that will be sacrilege. They say, ”Right is right, and left is wrong.” I say left is right, and right is wrong, because the left represents all that is beautiful in you, and Sosan can enter only through the left. I know because I have entered thousands of hearts through the left hand, through the left side, through their feminine, their yin – I mean the Chinese yin – I have never been able to enter anybody through his yang. The very word is enough to prevent anybody: yang. It seems to say ”Keep away!” It says ”Stop. Do not enter here. Keep off! Beware of the dog!”

The right is like that. The right belongs to the wrong side of your consciousness. It is useful, but only as a servant. It should never be the master. So if you write Sosan’s HSIN HSIN MING, write it on your left palm.

It is such a beautiful book, each word is golden. I cannot conceive of a single word that could be deleted. It is exactly that which is needed, required, to say the truth. Sosan must have been a tremendously logical man, at least while he was writing his HSIN HSIN MING.

I have spoken about it and I have never loved speaking more. The greatest moments of my speaking were when I was speaking on Sosan. Speaking and silence together... speaking yet not speaking, because Sosan can be explained only through no-speaking. He was not a man of words, he was a man of silence. He spoke just the minimum. Forgive me Sosan, I forgot you. Just because of you I remember a few more who can knock at my door and disturb my afternoon sleep, so it is better that I should mention them.

First is Sosan’s HSIN HSIN MING.

Second is P.D. Ouspensky’s TERTIUM ORGANUM. It is a miracle that he wrote it before he had even heard of Gurdjieff. He wrote it before he knew what he was writing. He understood it himself only afterwards, on meeting Gurdjieff. His first words to George Gurdjieff were: ”Looking into your eyes I have understood TERTIUM ORGANUM. Although I have written it, now I can say that it has been written through me by some unknown agency I was not aware of.” Perhaps it was that rascal Gurdjieff who wrote it through him, or maybe somebody else whom the Sufis call the Ultimate Rascal, who has been doing miracles – miracles like TERTIUM ORGANUM.

The title means ’the third canon of thought’. The Sufis give that ultimate agency a name; it is not a person but only a presence. I can feel that presence right now, here... this very moment. They call it a certain name, because everything has to be given a name, but I will not say it, not in the presence of this beauty, this splendor... of this exuberance... of this exaltation... of this ecstasy.

I said it is a miracle that Ouspensky could write TERTIUM ORGANUM, one of the greatest books in any language of the world. In fact it is said, and rightly so – remember, I emphasize and repeat, rightly so – that there are only three great books: the first is ORGANUM written by Aristotle; the second is THE SECOND ORGANUM written by Bacon; and the third, by P.D. Ouspensky, TERTIUM ORGANUM. ’Tertium’ means third. And Ouspensky has, very mischievously – and only a saint can be so mischievous – introduced the book by saying, without any ego, simply and humbly, that ”the first exists but not before the third. The third existed even before the first came into existence.”

Ouspensky seems to have been spent, totally and utterly spent, into TERTIUM ORGANUM, because he never could reach to the same height again. Even reporting Gurdjieff in IN SEARCH OF THE MIRACULOUS he has not attained to the same height. When he betrayed Gurdjieff he tried finally to create something better than TERTIUM. As his last effort he wrote THE FOURTH WAY but failed utterly. The book is good, good for any university curriculum. You can see I have my own ways of condemning a thing....

THE FOURTH WAY can be part of a regular curriculum in a university course, but more than that it is nothing. Although he was trying to do his best it is the worst book that Ouspensky has written. It was his last book.

That is the difficulty with all that is great: if you try, you miss. It comes effortlessly or not at all. It has visited him in TERTIUM ORGANUM and he was not even aware of it. The words in TERTIUM are so powerful one cannot believe that the author is unenlightened, that he is still looking for a master, that he is still searching for the truth.

I was a poor student, working the whole day as a journalist – that is the worst job you can do, but that’s what was available to me at the time – and I was in such need that I had to join a night college. So the whole day I worked as a journalist, and at night I went to college. In a way my name belongs to the night. Rajneesh means the moon: rajni means the night, eesh means God – God of the night.

So people used to laugh and say, ”This is strange: you work the whole day, and go to study at night. Are you trying to fulfill your name?”

Now I can answer them, yes – write it in capital letters – YES, I have been trying to fulfill it my whole life. What else can be more beautiful than to be the full moon? So as a poor student in those days, I used to work the whole day. But I am a crazy man, rich or poor does not matter....

I have never liked to read books borrowed from others. In fact I hate even borrowing from a library, because a library book is like a prostitute. I hate to see the marks, the underlining of other people. I always love the fresh, the snow-white freshness.

TERTIUM ORGANUM was a costly book. In India, in those days, I was getting a salary of only seventy rupees each month, and by coincidence the book cost exactly seventy rupees – but I purchased it. The bookseller was amazed. He said, ”Even the richest man in our community cannot afford it. For five years I have been keeping it to sell, and nobody has purchased it. People come and look at it, then drop the idea of buying. How can you, a poor student, working the whole day and studying at night, working almost twenty-four hours each day, how can you afford it?”

I said, ”This book I can purchase even if I have to pay for it with my life. Just reading the first line is enough. I have to have it whatsoever the cost.”

That first sentence I had read in the introduction was, ”This is the third canon of thought, and there are only three. The first is that of Aristotle; the second of Bacon, and the third, my own.” I was thrilled by Ouspensky’s daring, that he said, ”The third existed even before the first.” That was the sentence that caught fire in my heart.

I gave the bookseller my whole month’s salary. You cannot understand, because for that whole month I had to almost starve. But it was worth it. I can remember that beautiful month: no food, no clothes – not even shelter; because I could not pay the rent I was thrown out of my small room. But I was happy with TERTIUM ORGANUM under the sky. I read that book under a street lamp – it is a confession – and I have lived that book. That book is so beautiful, and more so now that I know that the man did not know at all. How could he have managed it then? It must have been a conspiracy of the gods, something from the beyond. I cannot resist anymore from using the name the Sufis use; they call it khidr. Khidr is the agency that guides those who need guidance.

TERTIUM ORGANUM is the second book.

Third: GEET GOVIND – the song of God. This book was written by a poet very much condemned by Indians, because in GEET GOVIND, his song of God, he talks too much of love. Indians are so against love that they have never appreciated this great work.

GEET GOVIND is something which should be sung. Nothing can be said about it. It is a Baul song, the song of a madman. If you dance and sing it, you will understand it, there is no other way.

I am not mentioning the name of the man who wrote it. That is not important. X-Y-Z... not that I don’t know his name, but I will not mention it for the simple reason that he does not belong to the world of the buddhas. Yet he has done a great service.

Fourth: Now be patient, because I have to complete the list to ten. I cannot count more than that. Why ten? – because I have ten fingers. That’s how the number ten came into existence: ten fingers. Man started counting on his fingers so ten became the basic number.

Fourth: Kundkunda’s SAMAYASAR. I have never spoken about it. I decided to many times but always dropped the idea. This is one of the greatest books the Jainas have produced, but it is very mathematical; that’s why I have always dropped it. I love poetry. If it was poetic I would have spoken on it. I have even spoken on unenlightened poets, but not on even enlightened mathematicians and logicians. Mathematics is so dry. Logic is a desert.

Perhaps he is around here among my sannyasins... but he cannot be. Kundkunda was an enlightened master, he cannot be born again. His book is beautiful, I can only say that much. I will not say anything more because it is mathematical.... Mathematics too has its beauty, its rhythm, that’s why I appreciate it. It has its own truth but it is very limited, and very right-handed.

SAMAYASAR means the essence. If by chance you ever come across Kundkunda’s SAMAYASAR, then please never hold it in your left hand. Keep it in the right hand. It is a right-hand book, right in every way. That is why I have declined up till now to speak about it. It is so right that I feel a little aversion to it – of course with tears in my eyes, because I know the beauty of the man who wrote it. I love Kundkunda, and I hate from my guts his mathematical expression.

Gudia, you can have a little more freedom because I have to talk about four books more. If you want you can go out again.

Fifth: J. Krishnamurti’s THE FIRST AND LAST FREEDOM. I love this man, and I hate this man. I love him because he speaks the truth, but I hate him for his intellectuality. He is only reason, rationality. I wonder, he may be a reincarnation of that goddamned Greek Aristotle. His logic is what I hate, his love is what I respect – but his book is beautiful.

This was his first book after his enlightenment, and the last too. Although many other books have appeared they are only poor repetitions of the same. He has not been able to create anything better than THE FIRST AND LAST FREEDOM.

It is a strange phenomenon: Kahlil Gibran wrote his masterpiece THE PROPHET when he was only eighteen years old, and struggled his whole life to create something better but could not. Ouspensky could not go beyond TERTIUM ORGANUM even though he met Gurdjieff, lived and worked with him for many years. And such is the case with J. Krishnamurti: his book THE FIRST AND LAST FREEDOM is really the first and the last.

Sixth. The sixth is a book by another Chinese, THE BOOK OF HUANG PO. It is a small book, not a treatise, just fragments. Truth cannot be expressed in a treatise, you cannot write a Ph.D. on it. A Ph.D. is a degree that should be given to the fools. Huang Po writes in fragments. On the surface they seem to be unconnected, but they are not. You have to meditate and then you can find the connection. It is one of the most meditative books ever written.

In English THE BOOK OF HUANG PO is translated in the English way as THE TEACHINGS OF Huang PO. Even the title is wrong. People like Huang Po don’t teach. There is no teaching in it. You have to meditate, to be silent, to understand it.

The seventh is THE BOOK OF HUI HI. Again in English it is translated as THE TEACHINGS OF HUI HI. These poor Englishmen, they think there is nothing more in life than teaching. These Englishmen are all teachers. And be aware of Englishwomen; otherwise you will get caught with a schoolteacher!

Hui Hi and Huang Po are both masters. They impart, they don’t teach. Hence I call it THE BOOK OF HUI HI, although you will not find it in the libraries. In the libraries you will find THE TEACHINGS OF HUI HI.

Eighth: the last – at least for today, because one never knows about tomorrow. Other devils may start knocking at my doors. I must have read more than any man alive on the earth, and remember, I am not boasting but simply stating a fact. I must have read at least one hundred thousand books, possibly more, but not less than that, because after that I stopped counting. So I don’t know about tomorrow, but for the eighth today.... I am feeling a little guilty about GEET GOVIND because I haven’t told you the name of the author. I will tell you, but first let me finish the eighth.

The eighth book that has impressed me immensely is a strange one, obviously; otherwise it would not have impressed me at all. You will be shocked! Guess what the eighth book can be.... I know you cannot guess it – not that it is in Sanskrit or Chinese, Japanese or Arabic. You have heard about it, you may even have it in your home. It is the SONG OF SOLOMON in The OLD TESTAMENT. This is a book I love wholeheartedly. I hate all that is Jewish except the SONG OF SOLOMON.

The SONG OF SOLOMON is very much misunderstood because of the so-called psychologists, particularly the Freudians – the frauds. They have been interpreting the SONG OF SOLOMON in the worst possible way; they make it a sexual song. It is not. It is sensual, that’s true, very sensual, but not sexual. It is so alive, that’s why it is sensual. It is so full of juice, that is why it is sensual... but not sexual. Sex may be a part of it, but don’t misguide humanity. Even the Jews have become afraid of it. They think that it has been included in the OLD TESTAMENT by accident. In fact this song is the only thing worth preserving; all else is worth throwing into the fire.

Is my hour over? So bad. You say ”Yes,” but what can I do? – this is the very beauty. Thank you both.

Om Mani Padme Hum

How beautiful to stop at this beauty. No, no, no. This ”No” is what the Indians say when they attain to enlightenment. Then they don’t want to be born again. They say ”No, no, no....” After this beautiful experience, what is the point of continuing?

Monday, February 15, 2010

I apologize because this morning I did not mention a few books that I should have mentioned. I was so overwhelmed by Zarathustra, Mirdad, Chuang Tzu, Lao Tzu, Jesus and Krishna that I forgot a few of the books which are even far more significant. I could not believe how I could forget Kahlil Gibran’s THE PROPHET. It is still torturing me. I want to unburden – that’s why I say I am sorry, but not to anybody in particular.

How could I forget the book which is the ultimate: THE BOOK of the Sufis! Perhaps I forgot because it contains nothing, just empty pages. For twelve hundred years Sufis have been carrying THE BOOK with tremendous respect, opening its pages and studying it. One wonders what they study. When you face an empty page for a long time, you are bound to rebounce upon yourself. That is the real study – the work.

How could I forget THE BOOK? Now who will forgive me? THE BOOK should have been the first to have been mentioned not the last. It cannot be transcended. How can you create a better book than one which contains nothing, and the message of nothingness?

Nothingness should be written in your notes, Devageet, as no-thing-ness; otherwise nothingness has a negative meaning – the meaning of emptiness, and that’s not it. The meaning is ’fullness’. Emptiness in the East has a totally different context... SHUNYATA.

I called one of my sannyasins Shunyo, but the fool goes on calling himself Doctor Eichling. Now, can stupidity be greater? ’Doctor Eichling’ – what an ugly name! And he has shaved off his beard just to be Doctor Eichling... because with a beard he was looking a little beautiful. In the East shunyata – emptiness – does not mean emptiness as in the English language. It is fullness, overfullness, so full that nothing is needed any more. That is the message of THE BOOK. Please include it in the list.

First, THE BOOK of the Sufis.

Second, THE PROPHET by Kahlil Gibran. I could easily drop THE PROPHET for the simple reason that it is only an echo of Friedrich Nietzsche’s THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. In our world nobody speaks the truth. We are such liars, so formal, so full of etiquette.... THE PROPHET is only beautiful because it echoes Zarathustra.

Third, THE BOOK OF LIEH TZU. Lao Tzu I mentioned, Chuang Tzu I mentioned; Lieh Tzu I forgot, and he is the very culmination of both Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu. Lieh Tzu is the third generation. Lao Tzu was the master, Chuang Tzu was the disciple. Lieh Tzu was the disciple of a disciple, perhaps that is why I forgot him. But his book is immensely beautiful and has to be included in the list.

Fourth – and this is really amazing – I did not mention Plato’s DIALOGUES OF SOCRATES. Perhaps I forgot because of Plato. Plato is not worth mentioning, he was just a philosopher, but his DIALOGUES OF SOCRATES AND HIS DEATH is impossible to overpraise and should be included.

Fifth... I also forgot THE NOTES OF THE DISCIPLES OF BODHIDHARMA. When I talk of Gautam Buddha I always forget Bodhidharma, perhaps because I feel as if I have included him in his master, Buddha. But no, that is not right; Bodhidharma stands on his own. He was a great disciple, so great that even the master could be jealous of him. He himself did not write a word, but a few of his disciples, unknown because they did not mention their names, wrote some notes of Bodhidharma’s words. These notes, though few, are as precious as the Kohinoor. The word Kohinoor, do you know, means the light of the world. Noor means the light, kohi means of the world. If I had to describe anything as Kohinoor, yes, I would indicate towards those few notes by the anonymous disciples of Bodhidharma.

Sixth: I also forgot the RUBAIYAT. Tears are coming to my eyes. I can apologize for forgetting everything else but not the RUBAIYAT. Omar Khayyam... I can only cry, weep. I can only apologize with my tears, words won’t do. The RUBAIYAT is one of the most misunderstood and also one of the most widely read books in the world. It is understood in its translation, it is misunderstood in itsspirit. The translator could not bring the spirit to it. RUBAIYAT is symbolic, and the translator was a very straight Englishman, what in America they would call a square, not hip at all. To understand RUBAIYAT you need a little bit of hip in you.

The RUBAIYAT talks of wine and women and nothing else; it sings of wine and women. The translators – and there are many – are all wrong. They are bound to be wrong because Omar Khayyam was a Sufi, a man of tasawuf, a man who knows. When he talks of the woman he is talking about God. That is the way Sufis address God: ”Beloved, O my beloved.” And they always use the feminine for God, this should be noted. Nobody else in the world, in the whole history of humanity and consciousness, has addressed God as a woman. Only Sufis address God as the beloved. And the ’wine’ is that which happens between the lover and the beloved, it has nothing to do with grapes. The alchemy which happens between the lover and the beloved, between the disciple and the master, between the seeker and the sought, between the worshipper and his God...the alchemy. the transmutation – that is the wine. RUBAIYAT is so misunderstood, perhaps that is why I forgot it.

Seventh, MASNAVI of Jalaluddin Rumi. It is a book of small parables. The great can only be expressed in parables. Jesus speaks in parables: so speaks the MASNAVI. Why did I forget it? I love parables; I should not have forgotten it. I have used hundreds of parables from it. Perhaps it has become so much of my own that I forgot to mention it separately. But that is no excuse, apology is still required.

Eighth: the eighth is the ISA UPANISHAD. It is easy to understand why I forgot about it. I have drunk it, it has become a part of my blood and bones; it is me. I have spoken on it hundreds of times. It is a very small Upanishad. There are one hundred and eight Upanishads and ISA is the smallest of them all. It can be printed on a postcard, on one side only, but it contains all the remaining one hundred and seven, so they need not be mentioned. The seed is in the ISA.

The word Isa means divine. You may be surprised that in India we don’t call Christ ’Christ’, we call him ’Isa’ – Isa, which is far closer to the original Aramaic Yeshua, in English Joshua. His parents must have called him Yeshu. Yeshu is too long. The name traveled to India and from Yeshu became Isu. India immediately recognized that Isu is so close to Isa, which means God, that it would be better to call him Isa.

The ISA UPANISHAD is one of the greatest creations of those who have meditated.

Ninth... I forgot to say something about Gurdjieff and his book ALL AND EVERYTHING – perhaps because it is a very strange book, not even readable. I don’t think there are any living individuals except me who have read from the first page to the last. I have come across many Gurdjieff followers, but none of them had been able to read ALL AND EVERYTHING in its totality.

It is a big book – just the opposite of the ISA UPANISHAD – one thousand pages. And Gurdjieff is such a rascal saint – please allow me this expression, rascal saint – he writes in such a way that it becomes impossible to read. One sentence may go running on for pages. By the time you come to the end of the sentence you have forgotten its beginning. And he uses words he made up himself, just like me. Strange words... for example when he was writing about kundalini, he called it kundabuffer; that was his word for kundalini. This book is of immense value, but the diamonds are hidden among ordinary stones. One has to seek and search.

I have read this book not once but many times. The more I went into it the more I loved it, because the more I could see the rascal; the more I could see what it was that he was hiding from those who should not know. Knowledge is not for those who are not yet capable of absorbing it. Knowledge has to be hidden from the unwary, and is only for those who can digest it. It has to be given only to those who are ready. That’s the whole purpose of writing in such a strange way. There is no other book stranger than Gurdjieff’s ALL AND EVERYTHING, and it certainly is all and everything.

Tenth: I remembered this book but did not mention it because it was written by P.D. Ouspensky, a disciple of Gurdjieff who betrayed him. I did not want to include it because of this betrayal, but the book was written before he betrayed his master so finally I decided to include it. The name of the book is IN SEARCH OF THE MIRACULOUS. It is tremendously beautiful, more so because it was written by a man who was only a disciple, who himself had not known. Not only was he a disciple but later on a Judas, the man who betrayed Gurdjieff. It is strange, but the world is full of strange things.

Ouspensky’s book represents Gurdjieff far more clearly than Gurdjieff’s own. Perhaps in a certain state of being Gurdjieff had taken possession of Ouspensky and used him as a medium, just as I am using Devageet as my medium. Right now he is writing the notes, and with my half-closed eyes I am watching everything. I can watch even with closed eyes. I am just a watcher, a watcher on the hills. I have no other work left but to watch.

Eleventh: This is a book written by an unenlightened man, neither master nor disciple: LEAVES OF GRASS by Walt Whitman. But something has penetrated, come through the poet in him. The poet has functioned as a bamboo flute, and the notes are not of the flute itself; they don’t belong to the bamboo. Walt Whitman is just an American bamboo. But LEAVES OF GRASS is immensely beautiful. Something overflowing from God has been caught by this poet. No American as far as I know, except Walt Whitman, may have touched it – that too, partially; otherwise no American has been so wise.

Don’t interrupt! – at least once in a while write your notes. Later you will repent that you missed this, you missed that. Just write your notes. When the time is ripe I will say stop.

Is my time over? My time was over long ago; not today, more than twenty-five years ago. I am living a posthumous life, just a P.S. to a letter. But sometimes the P.S. is more important than the whole letter itself.

What a wonderful world. Even at these heights one can hear a giggle in the valley. In a way it is good, it joins them together.

Friday, February 12, 2010

The guest, the host, the white chrysanthemum... these are the moments, the white roses, when noone should speak.

Neither the guest,

nor the host...

only silence.

But silence speaks in its own way, sings its own song of joy, of peace, of beauty and blessings;otherwise there would not have been a TAO TE CHING, nor would there have been a SERMON ONTHE MOUNT. I consider these to be the real poetries although they are not compiled in any poeticway. They are outsiders. They are kept out. This is true in a way: they don’t belong to the norm, tothe standard, they don’t belong to any measurements; they are beyond all of them, hence they arebrushed over.

A few pieces in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s BROTHERS KARAMAZOV are pure poetry, and so are evena few pieces from that madman Friedrich Nietzsche’s book, THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. Even ifNietzsche had not written anything else but THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA he would have servedhumanity immensely, profoundly – more cannot be expected from any man – because Zarathustrahad been almost forgotten. It was Nietzsche who brought him back, who again gave him birth, aresurrection. THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA is going to be the bible of the future.

It is said that Zarathustra laughed when he was born. It is very difficult to imagine a new-born babylaughing. Okay, smiling – but laughing? One wonders at what, because laughter needs a context.At what joke was the baby Zarathustra laughing? The cosmic joke, at the joke this whole existenceis.

Yes, write in your notes the cosmic joke and underline it. That’s good. I can even hear you underlineit. That’s beautiful. Do you see how good my hearing is? When I want to I can hear even the soundof drawing a sketch, a leaf. When I want to see I can see in darkness, utter darkness. But when Idon’t want to hear, I pretend not to hear, just to give you the good feeling that everything is goinggood.

Zarathustra at his birth, laughing! And that was only a beginning. He laughed throughout his wholelife. His whole life was a laughter. Even so people have forgotten him. The English have evenchanged his name, they called him ’Zoroaster’. What a monstrosity! ’Zarathustra’ has the softness ofa rose petal, and ’Zoroaster’ sounds like a huge mechanical disaster. Zarathustra must be laughingat his name being changed to Zoroaster. But before Friedrich Nietzsche, he was forgotten. He wasbound to be.

The Mohammedans had forced all the followers of Zarathustra to become Mohammedans. Only afew, very few, escaped – to India, where else. India was the place where everybody could enterwithout a passport or visa, without any trouble. Only very few followers of Zarathustra escaped theMohammedan murderers. There are not many in India, only one hundred thousand. Now, whobothers about a religion of only one hundred thousand – who not only almost all live just in India, butin and around only one city, Bombay. Even they themselves have forgotten Zarathustra. They havecompromised with the Hindus with whom they have to live. They escaped the well and fell into theditch – a deeper ditch! On one side the well, the other side the ditch. And through the middle goesThe Way – Buddha calls it the middle way – exactly in the middle, just like a tightrope walker.

Nietzsche’s great service was in bringing Zarathustra back to the modern world. His great disservicewas Adolf Hitler. He did both. Of course he was not responsible for Adolf Hitler. It was Hitler’s ownmisunderstanding of Nietzsche’s idea of ’superman’. What could Nietzsche do about it? If youmisunderstand me, what can I do about it? Misunderstanding is always your freedom. Adolf Hitlerwas a juvenile mediocrity, a retarded child, really ugly. Just remember his face – that small mustache,those fearful eyes staring as though trying to make you fearful, and the tense forehead. He was sotense that he could not even be friendly to anybody throughout his whole life. To be a friend oneneeds to be a little relaxed.

Hitler could not love, although he tried in his dictatorial way. He tried, as many husbands dounfortunately, to dictate, to order, to maneuver and manipulate women – but he was unable tolove. Love needs intelligence. He would not even allow his own girlfriend to be alone with him in hisroom at night. Such fear! He was afraid that while he was asleep... one never knows, the girlfriendmay be a girl-foe; she may be an agent working for the enemy. He slept alone all his life.

How could a man like Adolf Hitler love? He had no sympathy, no feeling, he had no heart, nofeminine side to him. He had killed the woman within himself so how could he love the womanoutside? To love the outer woman you have to nourish the woman within, because only that whichis within is expressed in your actions.

I have heard that Hitler shot one of his girlfriends for just a small reason; he killed her because hehad said she should not go to visit her mother, but when he was out she went, although she wasback before Hitler returned. He came to know through the guards that she had gone out. That wasenough to finish the love – not only the love, but the woman too! He shot her saying, ”If you disobeyme, then you are my enemy.”

That was his logic: who obeys you is your friend; who disobeys you is your enemy. Who is foryou is for you, and who is not for you is against you. It is not necessarily so – somebody may bejust neutral, neither being for you nor against you. He may not be your friend, but that does notnecessarily mean that he is an enemy.

I love the book THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. I love very few books; I can count them on myfingers....

THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA will be the first on my list.

THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV is the second.

Third is THE BOOK OF MIRDAD.

Fourth is JONATHAN LIVINGSTON SEAGULL.

The fifth book is TAO TE CHING by Lao Tzu.

The sixth is THE PARABLES OF CHUANG TZU. He was the most lovable man, and this is the mostlovable book.

Seventh is THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT – only THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT not the wholeBible. The whole Bible is just bullshit except THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.

Eighth... is my numbering right? That’s good. Then you can feel that I am still in my insanity.The eighth, BHAGAVADGITA – the divine song of Krishna. By the way ’Christ’ is only amispronunciation of ’Krishna’ just as ’Zoroaster’ is of ’Zarathustra’. ’Krishna’ means the higheststate of consciousness, and the song of Krishna, the BHAGAVADGITA, reaches to the ultimateheights of being.

Ninth, GITANJALI. It means ’an offering of songs’. It is the work of Rabindranath Tagore, for whichhe got the Nobel prize.

And the tenth is the songs of Milarepa – THE ONE THOUSAND SONGS OF MILAREPA – that’show it is called in Tibetan.

No one spoke.

The host,

the guest,

nor the white chrysanthemum.

Ahhh!... so beautiful... the white chrysanthemum. Aahhh, so beautiful. Words are so poor. I cannotdescribe what is being brought to me.

The white chrysanthemum.

No one spoke.

The host,

the guest,

the white chrysanthemum.

Good. Because of this beauty, my ears are incapable of even hearing the noise, my eyes are fillingwith tears.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Osho - The Sufi is not an escapist, that is not his climate. He is utterly against escapism. He believes in celebrating the world, celebrating existence, celebrating life. It is the very fundamental of Sufism that the creator can be reached only through the creation. You need not renounce his creation to get to him; in fact if you renounce his creation you will never get to him. Renouncing his creation, indirectly you have renounced the creator himself.

But renunciation still happens. It is not that the Sufi renounces the world, but that he attains to God – and the moment God is attained, the world disappears. Then there is nothing to renounce: then only God is. The Sufi does not escape from the world, but a moment comes when the world disappears and dissolves. The Sufi lives in the world and he finds that there is no world, only God is.

The Sufi is not an ascetic. He does not believe in inflicting pain on himself, he is not pathological. The Sufi lives life in an utterly normal way, with no perversions, with no obsessions. Although, slowly slowly, the quality of his life goes on changing, it is not that he tries to change it. His whole effort consists in remembering God, not in changing himself.

Let it sink deep in you; if you miss this point you will miss the whole point of Sufism. The Sufi concentrates on only one thing, remembrance of God – ZIKR. As that remembrance deepens, his obsession with the world lessens. As he comes closer and closer to the ultimate reality, the ordinary reality is no longer attractive; it starts receding back. Because when you find the real gold, how can you go on carrying the unreal gold? When you have found the real diamonds you will automatically drop the stones, colored stones, that you have been carrying all along.

The escapist says, ”Renounce your colored stones so that you can get to the real diamonds.” The Sufi says just the contrary: he says, ”Get to the real diamonds, and that which is not real will drop out of your life of its own accord.”

To know the real is enough, the unreal is renounced in that very knowing. And because the unreal is renounced in that very knowing, it leaves no scars and wounds on you. The ascetic suffers from great wounds. He is not ripe yet, otherwise the fruit would have fallen without leaving any scar on the body of the tree. If the fruit is unripe and you pluck it, it hurts the tree, it hurts the fruit; both will remain wounded.

Have you not seen the beauty of a ripe fruit fallen of its own accord? Silently, spontaneously. The tree may not even become aware that the fruit has disappeared, the fruit may not become aware that the tree is no more there. Sufism is the simplest way possible. The Sufi lives a simple life. But the simplicity is not cultivated, because a cultivated simplicity is no longer simplicity; it is already complex. When you cultivate something, there is motivation, there is desire, there is longing; you are hankering for something.

By cultivating something, you are trying to become something. Becoming is desire. And how can desire be simple? So cultivation is never simple. A practiced sannyas, a practiced simplicity, can never have beauty. In the first place it is not simplicity at all. You can go and see so many saints in this country, or in other countries: their simplicity is cultivated,calculated, motivated. They are desirous of God, they are greedy for God, hence they are ready to pay the price.

The Sufi says: God is available, it is already available. All that you need is an uncomplicated mind, all that you need is a state of no-motivation. All that you need is to fall into the silence of this moment, no trying to achieve something tomorrow. And what is your afterlife? It is the prolonged shadow of the tomorrow. So those who are thinking to attain to heaven or to nirvana after death are very greedy people. They are not religious at all.

Sufism does not believe in any fairy-tales of the other world, of heaven and hell. And it is not that heaven does not exist, but that is not the concern of the Sufi. The Sufi lives totally in the moment. His simplicity comes out of his understanding, not out of cultivation; he does not practice it. Seeing life, he becomes aware of the austerity of a roseflower, how simple it is, and the beauty of its austerity. He becomes austere like a roseflower: it is not poor, the roseflower is simple and rich. What more richness can there be? The roseflower is simple and in utter luxury – what more luxury can there be?

The Sufi lives in the moment, blooms in the moment like a roseflower, simple yet rich. The poverty is not imposed; he is poor in spirit. And what does it mean to be poor in spirit? It simply means there is no ego, that’s all; not that he is attached to poverty. Beware of that. There are people who are attached to wealth and there are people who are attached to poverty. But it is the same attachment.

I have heard: The story is told of a dervish who went to visit a great Sufi master. Seeing his affluence, the dervish thought to himself, ”How can Sufism and such prosperity go hand in hand?” After staying a few days with the master, he decided to leave. The master said, ”Let me accompany you on your journey!”

After they had gone a short distance, the dervish noticed that he had forgotten his KASHKUL, the begging-bowl. So he asked the master for permission to return and get it. The master replied, ”I departed from all my possessions, but you can’t even leave behind your begging-bowl. Thus, we must part company from here.”

The Sufi is not attached to wealth or to poverty; he is simply not attached to anything. And when you are not attached to anything, you need not renounce. Renunciation is the other side of attachment. Those who understand the foolishness of attachment don’t renounce. They live in the world but yet they are not of the world. To willfully insist upon being in poverty is still an attachment: remember it. And to willfully insist upon ANYTHING is again an ego trip.

The Sufi lives simply, the Sufi lives without any will of his own. If it happens to be a palace, he is happy; if it happens to be a hut, he is happy. If it happens to be that he is a king, it is okay; if it happens to be that he is a beggar, that too is perfectly okay. He has no preference. He simply lives in the moment, whatsoever God makes available to him. He does not change anything. This has to be understood, because for centuries religions have been teaching you renunciation. For centuries religions have lived with a great inclination towards escapism.

The Sufi has a totally different approach, far healthier, far more whole, far more human, far more natural. Because whenever you escape from something it is out of fear, and out of fear there is never any transformation. When something drops of its own accord – not that you drop it, but simply that it has become nonessential, unimportant – then there is freedom. Freedom is never out of fear, freedom is out of great awareness. The Sufi lives in the world, mindful of God. He lives in the world, but he remembers God. He moves in the marketplace, but his heart is throbbing with a certain remembrance. The ZIKR continues. He does not become forgetful in the world; that is his work.

Escape or no escape, if you are forgetful you will miss God anywhere you are, in e marketplace or in the monastery. If you are not forgetful, if you are mindful, alert and aware, then God is everywhere – as much here as anywhere else, as much now as then. There is no question of going anywhere; one can simply relax here and fall into a kind of watchful silence. And then life is simple and uncluttered. Yes, that is what simplicity is: not a cultivated character but a life which is uncluttered by the nonessential, by the unimportant, by the mundane, by the trivial.

And again let me repeat that the Sufi does not believe in any fairy-tales, so there is no question of being motivated. He does not believe in the tomorrows. All that he knows of time is now, all that he knows of space is here. These sounds of the birds are divine for him. There is no other God separate from this existence. The dancer is in the dance, so he has no idea of a personal God sitting somewhere above the clouds. His God is an impersonal presence.

Feel it now, this very moment. The presence is here, as it is everywhere else. All that is needed is your falling into a kind of attunement, your falling inwards into a kind of at-one-ment. Then the cawing of the crows and the cuckoo calling from far away... and all is silent. In that silence you start becoming aware of the impersonal presence that surrounds you.

A young bank clerk stole five thousand pounds from the bank and was unable to reimburse it when caught. In despair he went up to the cliff with the intention of committing suicide. As he was about to jump he was tapped on his left shoulder, and upon turning around he spied an especially ugly lady who claimed to be his fairy godmother, and granted him three wishes.

His first wish was to replace the five thousand pounds, which was granted. His second wish was to be the owner of a large mansion, and his third, the owner of a Rolls Royce. All these were granted to him by his fairy godmother.

Feeling very pleased with himself, he turned back to make his way home to get the five thousand pounds, the mansion and the Rolls Royce. His fairy godmother stopped him and requested that he, too, grant her a single wish. He was only too happy to oblige, whereupon she asked him to make love to her.

He was repelled by her, but obliged because of the wishes she had granted him. He made love to her in a great hurry and pulled his trousers up and was about to leave when she stopped him yet again.This time she asked, ”How old are you, young man?”His reply was, ”I am thirty-five years of age – but why do you ask?”She said, ’You still believe in fairy godmothers?”

The person who believes in a personal God is still immature. There is nothing like that. That personal God is nothing but your idea of a father, projected and magnified. You are childish. When you pray, if you think you are praying to a personal God you are simply being stupid. There is nobody listening to your prayer. And yet God is. But God is not a person, God is an impersonal presence. God is this whole, the totality of all that is. Hence prayer can only be a silence. You cannot address God – prayer can only be an utter silence.

If you are silent now, it is a prayerful moment. This is what prayer is all about. When everything stops: no thought moves in your head, your breathing slows down, a moment comes when there is almost no breath. In that state of silence you are connected, you are plugged into reality. You are more separate; you are one. That oneness is prayer.

Osho: Anand Magdalena, You must be too serious. When I say that I am very serious about my jokes I am joking! You should not listen to me at all! Be alert, be watchful. I am not a man to be relied upon always. There is no need to get the joke -- the joke will get you! You simply relax -- you simply relax!

You are trying to find some significance, some hidden meaning, something esoteric in it. It is simply a joke! But that's how we have been conditioned for centuries: to take everything seriously. I want to destroy your seriousness. That's why I have to search for all these stupid jokes, just to destroy your seriousness!

In fact, it is very troublesome for me. It will be easier for me not to tell you any jokes, but then you will become very very serious. Even telling you these jokes you go on clinging with your seriousness. You are trying to find some meaning.

Life has no meaning. Rejoice! It has no meaning. Dance, sing, enjoy! It has no meaning. You need not be serious. It is a cosmic joke! What is there to get? But the achieving mind is always trying to get something, even out of a joke. Can't you relax at all? Can't you simply listen and laugh?

Do you have to understand it and its significance and its esoteric meaning then you will laugh? By that time the joke is finished -- you have missed the point. The point is simply to relax; but you will be very serious about it, you must be.

I have heard... Jesus, I have lost it again! I have not heard anything, not a word! Do you see? Even without a joke people are getting it! So if you want to get it you get it, joke or no joke! I have not heard. I have not told you, and you have got it!It is a question of relaxing!

Tuesday, February 09, 2010

Osho : A Sufi story.... A man went in search of truth. The first religious man he met was sitting under a tree, just outside his own village. He asked, ”I am searching for a true master. Please tell me the characteristics of a true master.” The fakir told him the characteristics. His description was very simple. He said, ”You’ll find him sitting under such and such a tree, sitting in such and such posture, his hands making such and such gestures – that is enough to know he is the true master.”

The seeker started searching. It is said that thirty years passed while he wandered the whole earth. He visited many places, but never met the master. He met many masters, but none were true masters. He returned to his own village completely exhausted. As he was returning he was surprised, he couldn’t believe it: that old man was seated under the same tree, and now he could see that this was the very tree that the old man had spoken of ”... he will be sitting under such and such a tree.....” And his posture was exactly as he had described. ”It was the same posture he was sitting in thirty years ago – was I blind? The exact expression on his face, the exact gestures....!”

He fell at his feet saying, ”Why didn’t you tell me in the first place? Why did you misdirect me for these thirty years? Why didn’t you tell me that you are the true master?”

The old man said, ”I told you, but you were not ready to listen. You were not able to come home without wandering away. You had to knock on the doors of a thousand houses to come to your own home, only then could you return. I said it, I said everything – beneath such and such a tree. I was describing this very tree, the posture I was sitting in, but you were too fast, you couldn’t hear correctly, you were in a hurry. You were going somewhere to search. Searching was very important for you, the truth was not so important.

”But you have come! I was feeling tired, sitting continuously in this posture for you. You were wandering for thirty years, but think of me sitting under this tree! I knew some day you would come, but what if I had already passed away? I waited for you – you have come! You had to wander for thirty years, but that’s your own fault. The master was always here.” It happens many times in our life that we cannot see what is near, and what is far attracts us. The distant drum sounds sweeter, we are pulled by distant dreams.

Monday, February 08, 2010

Osho : When Alexander the Great was coming to India he met one great man, Diogenes. In their dialogue there is one point which is relevant. Diogenes asked him, "What are you going to do after you have conquered the whole world?"

Alexander said, "After I have conquered the whole world, I am going to relax, just like you."

Diogenes was having a sunbath, naked. He lived naked, by the side of a river, and he was lying in the sand enjoying the morning sun and the cool breeze.

Diogenes laughed and he said, "If after conquering the whole world you are just going to relax like me, why not relax right now? Is conquering the whole world a precondition for relaxation? I have not conquered the whole world."

Alexander felt embarrassed because what he was saying was right. Then Diogenes said, "Why are you wasting your life in conquering the world -- only to relax, finally, just like me. This bank of the river is big enough, you can come, your friends can come. It is miles long and the forest is beautiful. And I don't possess anything. If you like the place where I am lying down, I can change!"

Alexander said, "Perhaps you are right, but first I have to conquer the world."

Diogenes said, "It is up to you. But remember one thing: have you ever thought that there is no other world? Once you have conquered this world, you will be in difficulty."

It is said that Alexander became immediately sad. He said, "I have never thought about it. It makes me feel very sad that I am so close to conquering the world ... and I am only thirty-three, and there is no other world to conquer."

Diogenes said, "But you were thinking to relax. If there was another world, I think first you would conquer that and then relax. You will never relax because you don't understand a simple thing about relaxation -- it's either now or never. If you understand it, lie down, throw these clothes in the river.

If you don't understand, forget about relaxation. And what is the point in conquering the world? What are you going to gain by it? Except losing your life, you are not going to gain anything."

Alexander said, "I would like to see you again when I come back. Right now I have to go, but I would have loved to sit and listen to you. I have always thought of meeting you -- I have heard so many stories about you. But I have never met such a beautiful and impressive man as you. Can I do anything for you? Just a word, a hint from you, and it will be done."

Diogenes said, "If you can just stand a little to the side, because you are preventing the sun. That will be enough gratitude -- and I will remain thankful for my whole life."

When Alexander was leaving him, Diogenes told him, "Remember one thing: you will never be able to come back home because your ambition is too great and life is too short. You will never be able to fulfill your ambitions, and you will never be able to come back home."

And actually it happened that Alexander never could reach back home. He died when he was returning from India, just on the way.

A fictitious story has been prevalent for these two thousand years. The story has some significance, and some historicity also about it, because on the same day Diogenes also died.

Both died on the same day, Alexander a few minutes before, and Diogenes a few minutes after him; hence the story has come into being ... When they were crossing the river that is the boundary of this world and the kingdom of God, Alexander was ahead of Diogenes, just a few feet ahead, and he heard a laughter from behind.

It seemed familiar and he could not believe it -- it was Diogenes. He was very much ashamed, because this time he was also naked. Just to hide his embarrassment, he told Diogenes, "It must be an unprecedented event that on this river a world conqueror, an emperor, is meeting a beggar" -- because Diogenes used to beg.

Diogenes again laughed and said, "You are perfectly right, but on just one point you are wrong." And Alexander asked, "What is the point?"

Diogenes said, "The emperor is not where you think he is, nor is the beggar where you think. The beggar is ahead of me. You have come losing everything; you are the beggar. I have come living each single moment with such totality and intensity, so rich, so fulfilled, that I can only be called an emperor, not a beggar."

This story seems to be fictitious, because how can one know what happened? But it seems to be significant. The moment you know that life and existence are fleeting phenomena ... it does not mean you have to renounce them; it simply means: before they fly away, squeeze the juice of every moment.

That's where I differ from all the enlightened people of the world. They will say, "Renounce them, because they are changing." And I will say, "Because they are changing, squeeze the juice quickly. Before they escape, taste them, drink them, rejoice in them. Before the moments go away, make them a celebration, a dance, a song."

Because they are fleeting, that does not mean you have to renounce them. It simply means that you should be very alert, so nothing can escape without being squeezed completely.

This world has to be lived as intensely and totally as possible, and it is not against your awareness. In fact, you will have to be very aware not to miss a single moment. So awareness and enjoying this life can grow together simultaneously. And this is my vision of the whole man.

I have told you a beautiful story about Rabindranath Tagore. In one of his poems he has the same glimpse that is expressed in your question.

In the poem he says, ”I have been searching for God for many, many lives. Sometimes I saw him near a faraway star, and I was immensely happy that although the star was far away, it was not impossible to reach. And I started moving there, but by the time I reached the star God had moved to some other place. But he was visible – so far away, but inviting, creating hope. And I went on running around the universe for many, many lives.

”One day it happened, I came to the house of God. I could not believe that I had arrived. It was such a shock, but still I stepped towards the door. As I was going to knock on the door my hand suddenly froze. A thought arose in me: Just wait a minute and think it over. It is written outside the door, ‘This is the house of God.’ If by chance it turns out to be really the house of God then you are finished. What are you going to do then?

”For millions of years your training has been only for searching. You are perfectly disciplined as a seeker, but finding? That is absolutely new; you are not acquainted with it. And moreover, a finding of the ultimate, the absolute God, beyond which there is nothing to search... what will you do then? What will you be? And it is going to be forever – an eternal situation of a full stop.” He took his shoes in his hands. He was afraid that as he goes back down the steps, if God hears some noise outside and opens the door... And then he ran away, not looking back.

The poem is beautiful because it says, ”I am again searching him. I know him, his house; I go on avoiding it. I go in every direction, but I keep myself far away from the house where he is, because I know that meeting him is going to be my disappearance.” Enlightenment is nothing but your disappearance. It is nothing but a pure silence. Naturally one feels afraid and one starts thinking, ”It is better to remain unenlightened and searching for it.” The story that I told you from Rabindranath’s poem is your story. It is everybody’s story. That’s why I say, you are enlightened, but you don’t want to recognize it. You want to find some way so that you canstart searching for enlightenment again.

Osho : Bees seem to have something like human minds, exactly the same kind of stupidity. The doors may be open, but if a bee is inside the room, caught inside the room... and she may have come from the open door but she will try to get out from the closed window. Not only bees but other birds also behave in the same way. Any bird can enter in your room; the doors are open, he has come from the door, but he cannot go back from the same door.

He starts trying to get through the wall, through the ceiling... and the more he tries, the more desperate he becomes, because there is no way to get through the ceiling or through the wall or through the closed window. And in that desperation, frustration he becomes more and more blind, afraid, scared. He loses all intelligence. And the same is the case with human beings.

One day Buddha came into his assembly of the monks. It must have been just a morning like this. His sannyasins were sitting and waiting for him. They were puzzled because this was for the first time that Buddha had come with something in his hand – a handkerchief. They all looked at the handkerchief What was the matter? There must be something special in it. And Buddha sat on the platform and rather than starting speaking to the assembly he looked at the handkerchief, started tying a few knots in it, five knots in all.

The whole assembly watched – what is going on? And then he asked the assembly, ”Can anybody tell me: is this handkerchief the same as it was before the knots were tied?”

Sariputta said, ”This is a tricky question. In a way the handkerchief is the same because nothing has changed, in a way it is not the same because these five knots have appeared which were not there before. But as far as the inner nature of the handkerchief is concerned – its nature is concerned – it is the same; but as far as its form is concerned it is no more the same. The form has changed: the substance is the same.”

Buddha said, ”Right. Now I want to open these knots.” And he started stretching both ends of the handkerchief farther away from each other. He asked Sariputta. ”What do you think? By stretching farther will I be able to open the knots?”

He said, ”You will be making knots even more difficult to open because they will become smaller, more tighter. ’

Buddha said, ”Right. Then I want to ask the last question: what should I do so that I can open the knots, the tied knots? How I can untie them again?”

Sariputta said, ”Bhagwan, I would like first to come close and see how in the first place the knots have been tied. Unless I know how they have been tied it is difficult for me to suggest any solution.”

Buddha said, ”Right, Sariputta. You are blessed, because that is the most fundamental question to ask. If you are in a certain fix, the first thing is how you got into it rather than trying to get out of it. Without asking the most fundamental and the primary question, you will make things worse.”

And that’s what people are doing. They ask, ”How we can get out of our sexuality, greed, anger, attachment, jealousy, possessiveness, this and that?” without asking, ”How in the first place we get into them?”

Buddha’s whole approach is, first see how you get into anger. If you can see the entrance, the same door is the exit; no other door is needed. But without knowing the entrance if you try to find out the exit you are not going to find; you will get more and more desperate. And that’s what people go on doing. In the scriptures, what are you looking for? – solutions. You create the problems – and the solutions are in the scriptures! Why don’t you look at the problems yourself. How you create them?

Why don’t you watch when you are creating a certain problem? And you create every day, so it is not a question that you have to go back. Today you are going to be angry again, today you will feel again the sexual urge: see how it arises, see how you enter into it, how you get hooked into it, how it becomes so big like a cloud that surrounds you and you are lost in it. And then you go to ask others! You are functioning almost like a stupid bee. Bees can be forgiven, but you cannot be forgiven.

Sunday, February 07, 2010

Osho : Meditation is needed because you have become unnatural. If you live a natural life... and by ’natural’ I mean: live the moment as it is – don’t try to put any should on it, don’t try to transform it into anything else. Just accept the moment as it is. When angry, be angry and accept it; and don’t create an ideal of not being angry. And when the anger has passed, don’t repent. There is nothing to repent about – it was so! When in love, love, and don’t think how love should be. Don’t consult love manuals, just let love flow naturally.

I have heard about a great warrior in Japan, a samurai, a very famous swordsman: One night when he came tired after the whole day’s fight in the fields and he was just going to fall into bed, he saw a rat. And the rat was looking at him ferociously! The samurai tried to kill the rat with his sword. He was one of the best swordsmen known, but somehow he missed. He hit many times, he broke his sword, and he could not kill the rat. He became really afraid: ”The rat seems to be very mysterious. This is no ordinary rat!”

He started, perspiring – he had never perspired. He had been a fighter his whole life and now a rat had defeated him. He ran out, asked his wife what to do. The wife said, ”You are a fool! You need not kill a rat. Have you ever heard of anybody killing a rat by a sword? You just take our cat inside.” And the cat was brought inside. It was no ordinary cat, it was the great warrior’s cat. She was also trained in many things; she was one of the most famous rat-catchers.She came with all her art, with all her skill.

She tried, but the rat was really extraordinary. He jumped exactly into her eyes! And the cat escaped out. She had never seen such a rat – attacking the cat?! And she was also trembling like the warrior. The warrior said, ”This is too much!” Then the king’s cat was called. She was a master cat, very well-known all over the country; of

course, she was the king’s cat. The king’s cat came and she was also defeated by the rat. She went in, tried hard, used all her skill, but the rat was just too much.

Then the king’s cat suggested a cat she knew who was not famous at all. ”You have tried with famous cats, now you try with an ordinary one... just ordinary, plain ordinary.”

The warrior said, ”But what can a plain, ordinary cat do?”

The king’s cat said, ”You just try. I know this cat. She is so ordinary, she does not know a thing. The whole day she sleeps. But there is one thing about her: cats know, the whole country’s cats know that she is very mysterious. The mysterious thing is that she knows nothing about rats, rat-catching, the art, the technique, the methodology, the philosophy – she knows nothing; she has never been to any school or college or university. She is a plain, ordinary cat, but rats are so afraid of her!

Wherever she sleeps... no rat ever enters that house! Just her presence is enough. And she goes on sleeping, and nobody knows when she kills and how she kills.

”Once I went to that cat and I asked, ’What is your art?’ She simply looked at me, and she had no words to say, and she closed her eyes and went to sleep. And I woke her again and asked, ’What is your art?’

”She said, ’I don’t know. I am a cat, that’s enough. A cat is a cat and IS MEANT to catch a rat. What art? What nonsense are you talking about?”’

The cat was brought, and the samurai was not very hopeful because she was really very ordinary, just like any vagabond cat.

She came in, and without any skill she simply went in, caught hold of the rat and brought it out. All the cats gathered together and asked her, ”What is your art?” And she said, ”I don’t know any art. I am a cat! Is not that enough?”

That’s what I mean by being natural. Meditation will happen if you are natural – even before enlightenment. Meditation is your natural blooming; meditation is not something like an art, skill, performance. No, not at all. You need not go to any school to learn it. But you have been spoiled. Rats have been around you too much, and you have become afraid of the rats – not only afraid, you have started learning how to catch these rats. You have become very skillful, artificial; you know the know-how and that is your trouble. Your knowledge is your trouble.

Osho : One Zen monk, Bokuju, was passing through a street in a village. Somebody came and struck him with a stick. He fell down, and with him, the stick also. He got up and picked up the stick. The man who had hit him was running away. Bokuju ran after him, calling, ”Wait, take your stick with you!”

He followed after him and gave him the stick. A crowd had gathered to see what was happening, and somebody asked Bokuju, ”That man struck you hard, and you have not said anything!”

Bokuju is reported to have said, ”A fact is a fact. He has hit, that’s all. It happened that he was the hitter and I was the hit. It is just as if I am passing under a tree, or sitting under a tree, and a branch falls down. What will I do? What can I do?”

But the crowd said, ”But a branch is a branch, this is a man. We cannot say anything to the branch, we cannot punish it. We cannot say to the tree that it is bad, because a tree is a tree, it has no mind.”

Bokuju said, ”This man to me is also just a branch. And if I cannot say anything to the tree, why should I bother to say anything to this man? It happened. I am not going to interpret what has happened. And it has already happened. Why get worried about it? It is finished, over.”

This is the mind of a sage – not choosing, not asking, not saying this should be and this should not be. Whatsoever happens, he accepts it in its totality. This acceptance gives him freedom, this acceptance gives him the capacity to see. These are eye diseases: shoulds, should nots, divisions, judgments, condemnations, appreciations.

Saturday, February 06, 2010

Osho : I have heard about one Mohammedan Sufi mystic. He used to sell small things in the village, and the people of that village became aware that he had no judgment. So they would take the things and give him false coins. He would accept them, because he would never say, ”This is wrong and this is right.” Sometimes they would take things from him and they would say, ”We have paid,” and he would not say, ”You have not paid.” He would say, ”Okay.” He would thank them.

Then from other villages also people started coming. This man was very good; you could take anything from his shop, you need not pay, or you could pay in false coins, and he accepted everything!

Then death came near to this old man. These were his last words: he looked at the sky and said, ”Allah, God, I have been accepting all kinds of coins, false ones also. I am also a false coin – don’t judge me. I have not judged your people, please don’t judge me.” And it is said that how can God judge such a person?

Jesus says, ”Judge ye not, so ye may not be judged.”

If judgment disappears, you have become innocent. If you don’t divide things into good and bad, ugly and beautiful, acceptable and nonacceptable; if you don’t divide things, if you look at reality without any division, your eyes will come into existence for the first time. This is chakshusmati vidya, the signs of gaining eyes.

If you divide you will remain blind, if you judge you will remain blind, if you say this is bad and this is good, you will persist in your blindness... because existence knows nothing. There is nothing good and nothing bad – existence accepts everything. And when you also accept everything you have become existence-like.

You have become one with it. So remember, morality is not religion. Rather, on the contrary, morality is one of the hindrances in gaining religion, just like immorality. Morality, immorality – both are hindrances. When you transcend both you have transcended the mind, the dual, the dualistic attitude.

Then the sage and the sinner have become one. Then you remain in your self, you don’t move to judge. And when you don’t judge, your mind cannot project: the mind projects through judgment.

We don’t know what Buddha actually said although he never used anybody like Ouspensky or Plato or Vivekananda; he himself was his own interpreter. But there arose a problem when he died. He spoke for forty-two years – he became enlightened when he was about forty and then he lived to eighty-two. For forty-two years he was speaking morning, afternoon, evening. Now there were no scientific methods for recording what he was saying. When he died the first question was how to collect it all.

He had said so much – forty-two years is a long time, and many had become enlightened in those forty-two years. But those who became enlightened had become crystallized in the heart. because that is easier, simpler, and people tend to move to the simplest process, to the shortcut. Why bother? If you can reach a point directly, straight, then why go roundabout? And when Buddha was alive there was no need for anybody else to interpret him; he was his own spokesman, so the need was never felt.

There were thousands of arhats and bodhisattvas; they all gathered. Only those were called to the gathering who had become enlightened – obviously, because they would not misinterpret Buddha. And that’s true, they could not misinterpret him – it was impossible for them. They had also experienced the same universe of the beyond, they had also moved to the farther shore. But they all said, ”We have never bothered much about his words since we became enlightened. We have listened to him because his words were sweet.

We have listened to him because his words were pure music. We have listened to him because just listening to him was a joy. We have listened to him because that was the only way to be close to him. Just to sit by his side and listen to him was a rejoicing, it was a benediction. But we did not bother about what he was saying; once we attained there was no need. We were not listening from the head and we were not collecting in the memory; our own heads and memories stopped functioning long ago.”

Somebody became enlightened thirty years before Buddha died. Now for thirty years he sat there by the side of Buddha listening as one listens to the wind passing through the pine trees or one listens to the song of the birds or one listens to the rain falling on the roof. But they were not listening intellectually. So they said, ”We have not carried any memory of it. Whatsoever he must have said was beautiful, but what he said we cannot recollect. Just to be with him was such a joy.” It was very difficult now – how to collect his words?

The only man who had lived continuously with Buddha for forty-two years was Ananda; he was his Personal attendant, his caretaker. He had listened to him, almost every word that he had uttered was heard by Ananda. Even if he was talking to somebody privately, Ananda was present. Ananda was almost always present, like a shadow. He had heard everything – whatsoever had fallen from his lips. And he must have said many things to Ananda when there was nobody there. They must have talked just on going to bed in the night.

Ananda used to sleep in the same room just to take care of him – he may need something in the night. He may feel cold, he may feel hot, he may like the window to be opened or closed, or he may feel thirsty and may need some water or something, or – he was getting old – he may feel sick. So Ananda was there continuously. They all said, ”We should ask Ananda.” But then there was a very great problem: Ananda was not yet enlightened. He had heard everything that Buddha uttered publicly, uttered privately.

They must have gossiped together; there was nobody else who could have said, ”I am friendly with Buddha,” except Ananda. And Ananda was also his cousin-brother, and not only a cousin-brother but two years older than Buddha. So when he had come to be initiated he asked for a few things before his initiation, because in India the elder brother has to be respected just like your father. Even the elder cousin-brother has to be respected just like your father.

So Ananda said to Buddha, ”Before I take initiation.... Once I become your bhikkhu, your sannyasin, I will have to follow your orders, your commandments. Then whatsoever you say I will have to do.But before that I order you, as your elder brother, to grant me three things. Remember these three things.

First: I will always be with you. You cannot say to me, ’Ananda, go somewhere else, dosomething else.’ You cannot send me to some other village to preach, to convert people, to give your message. This is my first order to you.

Second: I will be always present. Even if you are talking to somebody privately I want to hear everything. Whatsoever you are going to say in your life I want to be an audience to it. So you will not be able to tell me,’This is a private talk, you go out.’ I will not go, remember it!

And thirdly: I am not much interested in being enlightened, I am much more interested in just being with you. So if enlightenment means separating from you I don’t care a bit about it. Only if I can remain with you even after enlightenment, am I willing to be enlightened, otherwise forget about it.”

And Buddha nodded his yes to all these three orders – he had to, he was younger than Ananda – and he followed those three things his whole life. The conference of the arhats and the bodhisattvas decided that only Ananda could relate Buddha’s words. And he had a beautiful memory; he had listened to everything very attentively. ”But the problem is he is not yet enlightened; we cannot rely upon him. His mind may play tricks, his mind may change things unconsciously. He may not do it deliberately, he may not do it consciously, but he still has a great unconscious in him. He may think he has heard that Buddha said this and he may never have said it.

He may delete a few words, he may add a few words. Who knows? And we don’t have any criterion because many things that he has heard only he has heard; there is no other witness.” And Ananda was sitting outside the hall. The doors were closed and he was weeping outside on the steps. He was weeping because he was not allowed inside. An eighty-four-year-old man weeping like a child! The man who had lived for forty-two years with Buddha was not allowed in! Now he was really in anguish.

Why did he not become enlightened? Why did he not insist7 He made a vow, a decision: ”I will not move from these steps until I become enlightened.” He closed his eyes, he forgot the whole world. And it is said that within twenty-four hours, without changing his posture, he became enlightened. When he became enlightened he was allowed in. Then he related... all these scriptures were related by Ananda.